The Legacy of Hoole: A Shadow Rises
by kitalyn erof
Summary: Post series-On an eclipse fated for evil, Freya pecks her way out of an icy shell. She's a changeling, the first born in a thousand years. After a fateful transformation, she flees to the south of the Kingdoms and finds friends and a destiny as well as an awakening evil... Can she overcome the darkness inside to become a hero or will she fulfill the prophecy spoken by a dying king?
1. Prologue: A Final Warning

"_I am fine. I don't need wings were I am going."_

_He murmured the words sleepily, his eyes unable to focus on exactly what Otulissa held in her talons. He was vaguely aware of the others, the dear members of the Chaw of Chaws, weeping and pleading with him to stay. He found it hard to form the next words, but he knew they were urgent, and they had to know… to know what he had seen gazing into the Ember in the last moments he held it… By instinct, Soren stooped even closer, and caught the king's dying whisper, "We…stopped the hagsfiends… but something else…something worse… is coming." _

_In the fiery light of the volcanoes, the owls remained around Coryn's crumpled body, interrupted in their grief by a messenger._

"_The king is dead!" Soren replied lowly, blinking back tears and trying to hide his confusion._

* * *

_The earth shuddered and bucked as the owls flew to the Hot Gates. Soren was silent, the wind stinging his eyes, but even through his tearful haze, he could see Otulissa watching him closely, her eyes questioning him. He landed on a ledge away from the others, followed moments later by Otulissa._

_Her brows knitted together, her deep amber eyes filled with sorrow over the loss of her one-time pupil. "What did he say to you?" she finally asked. _

_Soren shook his head sadly, and replied, "That we didn't stop everything. Something… something even worse is still going to come into the world." Just saying out loud made his gizzard flinch, and he shuddered as an unnatural chill settled in his bones, despite the heated air around him._

_The owls remained silent, even when the earth shook and the five volcanoes exploded all at once with an ear-bursting roar. As the sky turned to fire and owls fled through the gates in a rush of wings and panicked cries, the Chaw of Chaws remained perched on the Hot Gates._

"_Tell no one," Otulissa whispered in his ear slit, "when it comes to it, we will do as we have to. As Coryn would have us do." Her eyes, though glistening with tears, seemed deadly in the moonlight. _We've won the war, but another one looms, _Soren thought, gazing out at the mist gathering on the horizon._

_As a new constellation rose, he couldn't help but wonder what kind of evil could possibly be worse._


	2. An Icy Miracle

_What an ill-favored night_, thought Gerald, as he perched on the ledge of his hollow. Far beneath the Snowy Owl's perch, the ocean lapped against the ice, a dark force ever gnawing away at his home. However, Gerald's eyes were fixed on the moon. It looked down on the Ice Narrows like a bloodred eye, as the shadow of the Earth ate at it.

"The watchers are watched, strong ice weathers the glare of the evil eye." Gerald muttered the proverb, one he had borrowed from neighboring puffins, fervently hoping it was true. His stomach lurched uncomfortably. He knew very little about what was meant to happen on this particular eclipse, but he had heard rumors of a terrible hatching, and the dire wolves that had prevented it on the orders of the Guardians. The _slink melf_ had been successful, and the evil was gone, pulled away by a cleansing tide.

_Things might have been different_, he thought, _what would've happened if they'd shown mercy_… He shook the thought away. Was it treacherous to think like this? How could it be, when he was one of the Glauxian Brotherhood? He had started his holy pilgrimage nearly three moons ago, choosing his spot carefully, so he could help any owls passing through to or from the Northern Kingdoms. Plus, he was unusually fond of puffins and wanted to learn enough to help dispel the exaggerated rumors of their stupidity.

_Well, maybe not all that exaggerated_, he thought, as he watched a couple of puffins collide. They cursed vehemently, and he sighed. He got plenty of news here, but what he really missed was caring for another creature. With the war ended, there were more birds than ever criss-crossing the Kingdoms, taking the news out to the world, veterans of battle were returning to their hollows, and a great peace rested over the land. But at a terrible cost… and all over an Ember. Gerald held no belief whatsoever in the Ember and its supposed 'powers' or magen of any sort… it just simply didn't exist.

He was still brooding over this dark thought in the dimming, ruddy glow of a half-eaten moon, when he felt the ice tremor under his talons. His eyes widened in fear and he instinctively launched himself from the cliff. In that moment, all hagsmire broke loose. The world seemed to split like the bloody moon in an instant, the ocean churned, terrified puffins fled their hollows screeching, and the cliffs bucked and twisted like a cornered animal. Great chunks of fell from the cliffs, smashing into the sea below, and the air was full of screaming. But one voice reached Gerald, that of his neighbor, Jocko.

"NO!" the guttural cry tore through the night, and Gerald saw a tiny flash of white hurtling towards the sea… Gerald folded his massive white wings in, and dove. Only one thought ran through his head: _if colliers catch coals, by Glaux, I can catch an egg_… He shot out his right foot and… yes! He cradled the egg gently in his claws. Something flashed by his face, and he caught it in his second foot. With a power flap, Gerald joined the hovering parents as the cliffs shuddered one last time. They glided to the top of the cliff, to a patch of solid earth, and Gerald hovered as he gently set down his precious payload.

"My egg!" gasped Tootsie, tears streaming down her beak as she nuzzled it. Jocko gave him a grateful look, but as his gaze drifted down to the second object, his face tightened with fear.

"By Ice and capelins!" he gasped, scrambling back. He flung out a protective wing in front of his mate and egg. "What is that?!" Gerald glanced down, and, for once, was at a complete loss. He touched it with an experimental talon, and jerked it back.

"Ice is right," Gerald said as he stooped to examine it, "_issen blaue,_ I think, but some of the clearest I've ever seen… Glaux almighty." He whispered, his gizzard grinding to a stop. _That's impossible_. He gazed at it hard, and through the transparent, faceted surface of the blue ice, was a dark, pulsating mass. He squinted, and wilfed to half his size. He could just make it out in the failing light:the bulging eyes, the talons, the beak…

"An egg made of ice!" he said, and the moonlight intensified, so bright it was painful… but it wasn't coming from the moon, which was engulfed completely in shadow. It was coming from the ice egg! Gerald squeezed his eyes shut tightly against the silvery light. _Glaux, I regret everything I've ever thought about magen not being real, please just let it stop!_ He prayed, his beak moving silently, hoping so desperately… The light faded away, slowly, and the icy shell shattered like glass at the darkest moment of that bizarre night.

"An owlet," Gerald gasped, his eyes wide "It's a girl!" The chick shuddered against the cold, and cheeped feebly for a second, a wordless plea. Gerald's heart melted like ice around a smee hole for the little one, and he coaxed her to sit on top of his feathered talons. She snuggled deep into his snowy feathers, and he churred.

"There, that's better eh, little one?" he said, and the chick's large head swung towards him. The lid of an eye cracked open, and light flooded from it. He gasped, as both her eyelids slowly parted, completely revealing her huge, perfectly silver eyes. The puffins screeched and fled in terror as the light dyed the snow and Gerald's belly feathers all colors of the rainbow. She swung her head around, and the light cast colorful shadows over the remains of the ice egg.

"_I-i-isen… freyan?_" the owlet questioned in a feeble voice. She blinked, and the light flickered away, her eyes suddenly the exact shade of yellow as his. "_Freyan?_" She squinted, and instantly was covered with fluffy white down. Gerald opened and closed his beak a few times, at loss for words or even coherent thoughts. _Freyan_, he thought, things clicking despite his shock, _Old Krakish for, um… I was frozen!_ He smiled with triumph, but then his beak clamped shut.

Why in Glaux's name is this owlet speaking AT ALL, never mind what language?! Another shock rippled through him, as he noticed her appearance.

"Uh, well, young'un… I guess you're in my responsibility now…" she nuzzled his leg and muttered something cheerfully. "You can call me 'Da'. And I'll call you 'Freya', I think."

The little one's newly yellow eyes sparkled with happiness, and Gerald knew he was talons-over-head in love with this miracle.


	3. The Sybil

Leagues and leagues away, the sibyl woke with a piercing yelp.

"Morgana?" The black wolf rolled over, ignoring the concerned stare of her traveling companion. _Glaux, back off, you're not my da! s_he thought, but only lifted her upper lip a little, revealing her irritation at his closeness with a glimpse of the white crescents of her fangs.

The old, scarred, silver wolf took a step back, his eyes flashing with fear. This scrawny young wolf scared the be-Lupus out of him, and he was a ragged McMurray warrior who had once scared off a bear! No, there was something very unnatural, un-_wolfish,_ about her, an insidious ability to inspire fear in all creatures…

Morgana closed her firey green eyes to block out her escort, to concentrate on what she had just seen… she swam through the images, pushing aside the irrelevant just as she would nose aside debris in a river, swirling memories of strange lives, of familiar faces, of owls and wolves and bears and… the Sibyl paused, finding the source of her distress. "A Changeling," she muttered furiously, her eyes darting back and forth under their lids, "an owl, at the moment."

There was a scraping noise, and her ears flickered in irritation as the image dissolved into mist.

"Regin, what have I told you?! Never, NEVER, take notes!" Her eyes snapped open, blazing yellow-green, and Regin dropped the bone that he had started incising her words.

He dropped his head low, and murmured, "Sorry, sibyl, please continue." She flounced to the mouth of the cave.

"It is gone," she growled. "I can tell no more. And once we get to Ga'Hoole, _you _can explain to the king why I wasn't able to divine the location of the Changeling!"

"The first born since the times of legend, right?" Regin remarked, hoping to add it to the bone. Anything to make it less of a failure, and hopefully to sooth his charge's anger.

The fire in her eyes seemed to go out, and her shoulders slumped. "The first born in a thousand years, almost exactly to the day." Her voice was flooded with something… _pain?_ Regin thought in disbelief. This wolf had been nothing but a thorn in his side since his clan leader assigned him to protection duties, to escort her to the owl kingdoms. She had been sullen, angry, and cruel, but never once had she betrayed pain.

Nervously, he bowed his head and said, "Then, we must make all haste to the Great Tree… that is, if you're up to it."

"Frinkin' racdrops, you suddenly start to think I've turned into a sprink pansy? Let's move out, now!"

Regin rolled his eyes as the black wolf trotted away. He gathered up his prophecy bone, and stuffed it into his satchel as he raced after that pain-in-the-hindquarters sibyl.


	4. Different

A moon later found Gerald returning from a hunting trip.

The sea sparkled in the sunset as Gerald followed the orange reflection of the sinking sun straight to his hollow. In his talons, he clutched a botkin containing a lemming and a soft pink seashell he had found as a souvenir for Freya. It shimmered in the light, the same color as the edge of a sunset. It would be just the thing to make her night.

With steady flaps, he pressed on, entering the narrow channel between the ice cliffs. Puffins called to each other, hollering insults and jokes, as they finished up fishing for the day. The sun stained the ice fiery liquid reds and pinks and oranges, the colors Freya loved. Gerald churred to himself. He had forgotten that about young'uns, their curiosity, their utter fascination with everything. This lead to incessant questioning, but after his years of silence at the Retreat, he welcomed it.

_Why Gareth could hardly swallow a bite of food without another question forming on his beak!_ Gerald thought, lost in the happy memory… until it ended with the last time he ever saw his son. He clenched his beak, forcing the memory away as he circled in for a landing. Familiar giggles drifted out of his hollow, and he did his best to wipe the pain off his face. Gerald's talons had barely hit the ice ledge of his nest when the owlet peeped up.

"Da! _Daaaa!_ Look what I can do!" hooted Freya. Guessing what was coming next, he stashed the lemming he had just caught, and, repressing a sigh caused by the thought of Gareth, he turned to look at her. Freya's eyes lit up at his attention.

And then she promptly crossed them in a look of extreme concentration.

"If you keep that up, they'll stick-" Gerald's parental advice was cut short as Freya grew- practically _exploded_\- into a wall of misty grey feathers.

"Great Grey, Great Grey!" she chirped, prancing between talons, the motion setting off a mini-whirlwind that swirled Gerald's feathers into complete disarray. The breeze whipped through the hollow stirring up the down and lichen nest in the corner.

"In-agh-deed!" Gerald said, choking on a feather. She looked down at him, her face indistinguishable from a true-born Great Grey Owl with its flat facial disk lined with sweeping light grey feathers. Her yellow eyes brimmed with pride.

"Frey-ah!" coughed a muffled voice from somewhere behind the massive wall that was the owlet, "too… big!" Freya shuffled, trying to turn around but it was impossible in that tiny hollow.

"Oops, sorry Gerry!" she churred, and shrank to her usual form in a blur. Try as he might, Gerald could never exactly make out the process: there was a rapid shrinking with a slight grinding noise and a sense of compression as the fully formed feathers pulled in flat, melding back into soft, fluffy down. Freya giggled and cocked her head, studying the puffling who slumped against the wall in relief. "Maybe next time I should try it outside first."

"Ya think?" Gerry the puffling muttered, and hacked up a remnant of grey down. It dissolved with a quiet _hissss _the moment it touched the dirt floor of the cave, as did any stray feathers from Freya's transformations.

"But was it okay? Is that what they really look like?" she asked, a sudden burst of self-doubt flooding her voice. She nervously ran her beak through her down and then stared at Gerald with huge, questioning eyes.

Before he could say a word, Gerry the puffling broke in. "A bit large, to be honest. The one I saw wasn't nearly as big as you. Of course, it was a male, so maybe for a female it was the right size…" he trailed off. Gerald smiled at him fondly. After all, Gerry was the reason he found Freya. On the night of the eclipse, Gerry had been in the egg Gerald had rescued and his parents, Jocko and Tootsie, had named their son after the owl in gratitude. It was possibly still only out of their gratitude that they let Gerry hang out with Freya. It certainly wasn't out of love for the little owlet.

Then again, Gerry probably unnerved his parents as much as Freya did. Even now, Gerald could practically see the gears turning in his keen, very un-puffinlike mind. That boy had a knack for observation and scientific thinking, and Gerald had half a mind to suggest that he make his way to the Great Tree… but, as with every time, he quashed this thought with the wavering image of his mate and young son. That certainly cured him of any lingering love for Ga'Hoole.

Gerald shook away his rambling thoughts and surfaced to find the young ones chatting animatedly about Freya's new transformation.

"That makes six fully-fledged species total," Freya said, checking off on her talons with the tip of a stubbly wing. "Snowy, puffin, sea gull, Barn, Whiskered Screech, and now Great Grey." She beamed. "Quite a plethora!" She cocked her head at him, eyes searching for approval.

Gerald nodded, smiling at the word. This little one sure picked up vocabulary quicker than any owlet he had ever been around. "One might even say a multitude!" he added.

"A surfeit."

"A gaggle of myriad forms!" Gerry added, laughing.

The trio traded increasingly ridiculous words, making them up as they ran out, until they ended up laughing on the floor.

"Gerry!" a voice called in, and the puffling groaned. The birds staggered to their feet to see Jocko the puffin standing on the edge. "Time to go home. Gerald," he said, nodding genially at the owl. Freya stepped from behind the Snowy, her eyes brimming with laughter. Jocko stiffened, his expression suddenly set, as if carved from stone. Fear danced in his eyes and he ruffled his feathers, trying to avoid any eye contact. The laugher drained from the owlet's eyes in a heartbeat.

"Can't I stay just a little longer?" Gerry whined.

"Of course not! It's time for bed," his father snapped, eyes darting nervously to the owlet. "Your mother's got supper ready, and we need to leave. _Now!_"

Gerry sighed, and waddled to his father. "See ya Mr. G. See you tomorrow, Freya," he said in passing.

Jocko nodded at Gerald once more, stiffly avoiding Freya's gaze, and the two puffins waddled down the trail carved into the cliffs to their hollow. That final glimpse of Jocko's face sent an ice sliver directly into Freya's gizzard.

Freya swallowed hard, trying to squelch the pain, to keep it from rising. Still, her eyes burned and stung, and tears threatened to spill over. She turned a bit so Gerald wouldn't see this.

"So… lemming tonight," she said in a quiet voice. The last ray of sunlight filtered into the cave, turning everything into a quivering drop of orange-red through her tears.

"Freya," Gerald said, gently pulling her into a warm embrace. She squeezed her eyes shut as hard as she could, pressing her face into his silky white feathers. Darkness seemed to envelope her, as Freya found herself wishing she could blot out the image of Jocko's disgusted face, of _all _the other puffins' fear of her, just as easily. Gerald patted her on the back.

"I'm… I'm a freak, aren't I?" Freya muttered into his feathers. Gerald held her out with his wings.

"Where did you hear that word?" he asked, his eyes wide with shock.

Freya looked down and sniffed, "I don't remember who said it, some puffin." She scuffed her talons against the floor sheepishly before meeting his eyes with her tear-filled yellow ones. "But is it true? Am I… strange?" Gerald scoffed, his mind flitting instantly to the neighborhood bullies, a gaggle of young puffin hooligans that went around causing mischief. Often, Freya and Gerry were on the receiving end of their abuses, but their parents never seemed to believe reports of their misdeeds. He dreaded the day they learned to fly, to add mobility to their cruelties instead of just name-calling across the Narrows.

Gerald shook his head and sighed. "Oh, Little One," he sighed, "you must understand that, around here, the creatures are suspicious of anything or anyone who is different." Freya looked down sadly, but Gerald tilted her chin up with a soft brush of his wing.

"Hey, but different is _good_, Freya. Glaux knows what happens when creatures want everyone to be the same." He shuddered, a memory from long ago surging to the front of his mind... one filled with blood and battleclaws. "No good can come of it. But listen to me, little Frey," his voice grew soft, and enveloped her like a warm breeze. "Your powers were given to you for a reason. I feel it in the depths of my gizzard that you have been blessed by Glaux. You may not understand this now, but I'm telling you, someday you will. And on that day, you will shine all the brighter for the bad things you've gone through." He gave her a little smile which she returned, albeit slightly tearfully.

"Thanks, Da," she said, sniffing, and he embraced her with a wing.

"And look what I found today!" he said, suddenly remembering. He pulled out the tiny colorful shell, and it gleamed pearlescent in the last drops of sun.

"Oh Da, it's beautiful!" Freya said, her voice filled with awe as she held it in her talons. "A sunset shell. I've never seen one like this before!"

"It's one-of-a-kind, beautiful in its own way," Gerald remarked, as the owlet hopped back into the hollow. She gently lined it up with her other treasures: a bit of blue ribbon, a silver fish scale, and a piece of ice that turned green in the right light. Through her tears, her eyes gleamed in happiness as she hopped back to him to snuggle into his side.

Together, they watched as the sun dipped beneath the horizon, pulling the colors along with it into another world. Gerald wished this moment would stretch on forever.

Little did he know that time would steal by quicker to the inevitable moment than he could ever imagine.


	5. Distant Prophecies

Far, far to the southeast on the edge of the Aquiline Mountains and the uncharted savannah was a winding series of cliffs and caverns. Before the time of Glaux, Others had hewn a vast network of cliffside dwellings into the rosy stone, creating a veritable city high above the dry lands. Since the War of the Ember had ended, an academy had been established there as a sort of Ga'Hoole away from the Great Tree, in order to provide a place to go for the owls and other creatures who could not make it to Ga'Hoole.

It was open to all creatures, from owls to falcons to wolves and even a few lions. Students, young and old, could choose their course of study and stay as long as they liked. Even though it had only been established for a short time, already whole families dwelt there. And, best of all, it was on the shortlist to receive the Ga'Hoole tree seed, as the two diplomats stationed at the Great Tree reported back.

Sura didn't care a pellet about any of this. She had flown to the Academy out of sheer desperation, and had practically lived in the expansive library for nearly an entire moon, rarely pausing for food or rest. She knew time was running out.

The darkening hours of the evening found Sura studying an ancient manuscript. She swayed wearily on her reading perch, as the glyphs blurred into black slashes of ink. She blinked, struggling to bring them back into focus, thinking _Two weeks. That's all they have, just two weeks, you've got to figure this out!_

In the midst of this self-scolding track, Sura heard the sound she had been expecting- and dreading: A soft rustling of feathers, and a prickling on the back of her head, a sign of his presence behind her.._._

If she wasn't so tired, she would've rolled her eyes. "Again, not tonight, Shen," she grumbled, as she forcefully flipped the page, bending in closer to examine it. "I don't need your help, and no, I don't want to go out for a flight!" Her tone was acidic, certainly more so than usual. Sura knew she was being horrible, but she was at her breaking point. Shen was, once again, not put off.

"Sura, please," he said with a long, whistling sigh, "just turn around."

She spun around, glaring up at him with reddened, bleary eyes. Even on her perch, the Jungle Pygmy Owl was dwarfed by the Tyto. Of course, Shen was rather strange, even for a Middle Kingdom Masked Owl. For one thing, he was extremely tall, with dark blue-green feathers that bordered on black flecked with gold, with ivory facial and speckled-gold belly feathers. He looked at her critically, close enough that Sura could see herself reflected in multicolored eyes. They seemed vibrantly green-gold tonight bordered in their dark feathers.

"You're exhausted," he said, without even a trace of his Middle Kingdom accent. "Please. Let me help you." He picked up the next book on her stack, scanning the faded title.

"That's the stack I've already covered," she snapped, and, with a flutter, snatched the book away from him and flung it back into the pile. She paused, then beating her wings furiously, grabbed the book from her stand tossed it down. It lay open, its yellowed pages askew. "It doesn't matter anyway!" She turned away, tears burning her eyes.

"Sura…" he muttered unsurely. Through her blurred vision, she saw him leaning over the open book.

"What?" she asked, swiping away a tear with her wingtip.

"It- it must've been tucked in the binding," Shen said, holding up a piece of parchment with a talon. "Look." Shen brushed a feather over a single word, pointing it out to the tiny owl before him.

Sura squinted, and gasped.

"I… I can't believe it!" she whispered, taking the paper from him. "This is it!" She scanned over it quickly, and frowned. And without a single word, she flew out of the cavern, parchment in talons. Shen flew off after her, taking three wingbeats for every eight of hers. They wove through the early evening rush of students, birds of all colors and breeds, daytime students returning to roost and nocturnal students heading to classes. Shen's forehead knitted in concern, as Sura made for the elaborately carved Great Hall.

"Are you sure we should disturb him? It's so early in the night…" Shen's words fell on deaf ear slits as Sura swooped into the largest doorway. They landed on the rocky floor of the darkened room, the clicking of their talons echoing through the massive space as loud as an avalanche to Shen's ears.

"Tourmaryb?" Sura whispered, the question ringing through the hall as loud as a shout.

Soft padding came from directly in front of them, and the waning sun's light lit on two golden sparks in the darkness.

"Young'uns," the deep gravelly voice echoed as if the earth itself was speaking. "I do not like being disturbed at this hour." As the owls' eyes adjusted, Tourmaryb's giant form seemed to flow out of the darkness. He blinked, the amber sparks flickered, and the mountain lion strolled closer. He had to be as old as the hills- his fur had more white than brown, and his walk was ponderous and arthritic. But still, Tourmaryb could move like flowing water, graceful and unperturbed.

"Sir," said Sura, bowing her head respectfully. "I'm sorry to wake you. It's just that I- I mean, we-" She nodded to Shen, "we found something about the rising of Quetzen, but there was more to it."

"Shen, please stoke the coals," Tourmaryb said, "my eyes aren't what they used to be, and I need all the light I can get to translate Hoolish." Shen obliged, poking at the slumbering embers with an iron rod until they stirred and awoke with a soft yellow flame. "Good, good, now let me have a look at this."

He squinted at the parchment, and read. He seemed to take forever, and Sura shifted her weight between feet, nerves making her gizzard churn. Finally, Tourmaryb looked up, his eyes heavy.

"This… this is not what I expected," he sighed. His tail flicked at the tip, as he tapped the title of the parchment with a claw. It was a simple one, but its implications were, to say the least, complicated.

"It proves what I've been saying all along," Shen commented, fluttering over. "It's almost exactly what we talk about in the Middle Kingdom: the circular nature of time, the necessity of the equality of good and evil, and the ever-fluid path of life…" he paused, and Tourmaryb nodded.

"This is beyond your home, Sura," the old cougar said in his rumbling voice. "This is something the Guardians need to see. They need to know what's coming next." He shivered, as he gazed out. The moon seemed flatter than usual, a dead blank eye staring down balefully.

"The age of the Ember is over for now," Tourmaryb muttered, "but the age of the cursed soul is just beginning, unless we can stop it."

"We'll take it to the Great Tree," Shen said immediately, just as Sura said, "I have to warn my tribe about what it to come."

They glanced at each other, unsure of what to do. "You must both work together," the mountain lion said, "fly with all haste to the Great Tree. But, if this 'savior' that is mentioned is found on the way there, as I believe it will be, then you know what you must do. Whatever it is, it will be confused, fleeing a life as an outcast. If my sense of time is correct, it will be just about your age, Sura, and it will follow your guidance. Perhaps, just perhaps, we can yet change the course of what is to come."

"One often meets their destiny while trying to avoid it," Shen said quietly, and Tourmaryb cocked his head.

"I have never seen a prophecy play out to its fullest extent as of yet and many have meanings hidden to us."

"Exactly which prophecy are we talking about?" Sura asked. She thought of the moon-silvered canopy of her homeland, the usual cries and rustling of the jungle unable to overcome the rumbling below. The beast awakening from the depths.

Tourmaryb's eyes glinted. "Both, I believe. What seems clear one moment will be muddied the next." He glanced up at the newly-risen moon. "There is little time, young'uns. Take what supplies you need, and leave." They nodded diligently.

"Thank you, Tourmaryb," whispered Sura, gathering up the prophecy.

Sura and Shen kicked off, launching themselves out into the canyon night.

"Glauxspeed!" Tourmaryb cried, settling down at the lip of the cave. Gently, he cross his front paws, tail twitching, as he watched their silhouettes fade into the night.

"You'll need it," he murmured, his thoughts darkening. If the peace was to be held, if the owl kingdoms were to be saved, there was only a very, very little chance he would ever see either of his favorite pupils again. His ears flickered, catching the rustling and animated chatter of his first class of the night as they approached.

He sighed and stood. _Another war is coming. Best to arm these young'uns with the only thing I have: the truth. _As the assorted menagerie of animals filed into the rock shelf before him, his rough voice echoed all around.

"What exactly makes hero? Flying off to face down a known evil? Or waging silent wars against the hidden monsters among us? Let us begin..."


	6. Scorched by Darkness

Three weeks later, as the young pufflings took flight in the sunshine, Gerald and Freya slept in the cool shadows of their hollow.

It was the peaceful, heavy time of the afternoon, the time that, for owls who happened to be awake, seemed to pass slower than other times. Long moments hovered in the air, filled with a deep silence. It was then that Freya awoke, gasping for air.

Gerald snored on, as Freya, her eyes flickering from yellow, to liquid brown, to sharp orange, looked all around, her heart throbbing and gizzard churning in panic.

_It… it was a dream,_ she thought, with a shiver. Her talons convulsed, as if she could catch the fading tendrils in her talons, remember the significance of the dream. Desperately, she clutched at her necklace, her good luck charm, made from the pink seashell and the scrap of blue ribbon. Gerald had made it for her after she had her first daymare, nearly two weeks ago, promising her it would help ward them off. It had seemed to work until today.

Freya squeezed her eyes shut, rubbing a talon over he shell's smooth, cool surface. Whatever it had been about had left a blackened mist in her brain, a horrifying darkness… something to do with a flash of white feathers turned dark with blood. Her eyes flickered open, and she glanced over at Gerald.

She knew it had been about him.

Freya hopped over and snuggled deep into his feathers. Sleepily, the Snowy opened his eye just a slit, and a warm yellow light seemed to fill Freya, to diminish the dark edges of her daymare. "Little one, go on back to sle-ee-eep," he said, the last word drawn out in a wide yawn. The eye flicked closed.

_It was just a daymare, nothing unusual about that,_ Freya thought finally. But in the back of her mind, a tiny voice hissed, _oh, but wasn't it so real?_ She blocked it out by burying herself deep into Gerald's feathers.

She remained this way, half asleep yet too scared to sleep, until the golden sunlight slanted directly into the hollow, glowing ruddy through her eyelids.

Freya squinted against the light, and smiled. On the ledge outside stood a silhouette she had been expecting: that of the fluffy, semi-budged Gerry.

However, as she gently extracted herself from Gerald's feathers, trying not to wake him, a clamor of voices filled her gizzard with sudden dread.

"Hey iceworm! Whatcha waitin' on, your freakish girlfriend?" The shrill voice of Fritsy rang out loud enough to make Gerry wilf, but not so loud that Gerald even paused in his snoring.

"Guys, please, I'm not doing anything to bother you." Gerry's small voice drifted into the hollow. She heard the clicking of a beak, and knew he had started chewing on his budges. She crept, as fast as she thought she could without waking her da, towards the light, but it wasn't fast enough. She could see the gang of four much larger pufflings crowding around Gerry, forcing him closer to the edge.

"Oh, we're not gonna _bother _you." Freya recognized Lumpy's voice, and she froze in her tracks. His name was most fitting, as his right shoulder was hoisted significantly higher than his left, causing him to look completely lopsided, and made his flight difficult. Worst of all, Lumpy was the most vicious of all the bullies, perhaps because if he wasn't the toughest and the meanest, he would be bullied himself.

Lumpy didn't like Gerry, but he had a special hatred of Freya, to the point of wanting her dead. It had happened about two weeks ago, just after he learned to fly. He pretended like he wanted to apologize to Freya for calling her names, and offered an eel in apology. Just as Freya was about to eat it, Gerald woke up and threw it over the cliffs. Hurt and confused, Freya watched her da swell in anger as he ranted at the puffling about how poisonous that type of eel was. Lumpy had proclaimed he had no idea that it was lethal. However, his cruelty towards Freya ramped up after to an unbearable level.

Now, Freya felt her wings go limp and her body stiffened. _Yeep!_ She thought, _I am yeep before I can fly!_ She may as well have been frozen to the ice, she could truly not move an inch.

"Oh no," Lumpy drawled, as he wrapped a wing around Gerry. Gerry struggled, trying to worm his way out from under the older bird's heavy wing, but Lumpy pulled him close and forced him to waddle by his side, drawing to the very edge of the cliff. "No, we're gonna teach ya to _fly_!" The last word came as a snarl, as Lumpy shoved Gerry away from him. Freya cringed as his webbed feet skittered to the edge, and he teetered there for a heart-stopping moment, windmilling his inadequately fledged wings to keep balance.

"Don't!" Gerry said, breathlessly trying to stumble back. The gang pressed in close, keeping him on the edge. "I can't fly without my feathers! I'll die!"

"That's the point, _freak_!" Lumpy snarled viciously, "You don't belong, you're not a real puffin!"

Freya could see it from Gerry's point of view, clutching at the narrow ice lip with the hungry ocean waiting far below, opening its ice-flecked maw in anticipation… then, deep in her belly, a spark ignited.

It burned away Freya's yeepishness like the noonday sun burned up mist. As the gang crowded closer to Gerry, forcing him closer to the ledge, the owlet burst from the cave, eyes blazing.

"NO!" Freya screeched, and she skittered across the ice, her talons digging in and sending her sliding to a stop between Lumpy and Gerry. Instinctively, she dropped down low and spread her just-budging wings out to either side, puffing up her down and letting out a powerful _hisssss_.

Confusion flickered across Lumpy's face. _How did that little freak get down here so fast?!_ he thought, but shook it away with a forced laugh.

"Oooh, _so_ scary!" Lumpy scoffed, and shoved Freya away, forcing her to her side. "Get in line, little freak: your gibbliwibbly little friend gets the first flying lesson!" Her head slammed into the ice, and stars burst out in the evening sky before Freya's eyes, then the edges of her vision turned as dark and ragged as crow feathers.

The fire blazed inside, consuming everything in its path, leaving charcoaled darkness behind.

"Freya!" Gerry puffed, as Lumpy pushed him to the edge again. Freya blinked away the darkness, trying her best to stay conscious. She blearily saw Gerry's eyes fill with desperation as she felt the presence of the rest of the gang hovering over her. Lumpy had him one good shove away from the rim… and that's when she felt the fire seeping through her gizzard, as powerful as the williwaw winds that swept through the Narrows, as hot as a firestorm.

She shrieked as one of the gang members leapt onto her back and dug in with sharp claws, the weight nearly crushing her wings beneath her. The puffling chuckled, as the owlet squirmed beneath her foot, and she turned her over, raising her wing to slap her face... Freya's eyes snapped open, she caught sight of Fritsy's gleeful face and something snapped inside her. In an instant, everything around her was bathed with a harsh yellow light. The puffin scrambled back with a yelp as Freya leapt to her feet.

Freya felt the fire inside growing by the second, consuming her, pulling all her being into a raging inferno of darkness… and she was powerless against it. She was growing with the fire, and, blackened by the flames, her feathers budged faster than a blink… The yellow glow tinted her vision and the puffins shrunk before her, yeep in fear. Gerry looked back at her in disbelief. Even Lumpy's wings hung still at his sides, his eyes filled with a gizzard-rending horror. _This is what they feel like,_ a voice, much like her own, but _so _much stronger, whispered from the dark recesses of her mind, _this is what true _power_ feels like…_

"_Leave. Him. ALONE!" _Freya felt the dark fire speak through her, its hoarse voice tearing from her throat. She raised a set of wickedly sharp talons, ready to give _Lumpy_ a little flying lesson, the voice in her head praising her ingenuity…

"_Freya_!"

The desperate cry cut through the yellow haze and the swirling darkness flickered, hesitant.

"D-Da?" Her own, actual voice seemed so quiet, so foreign. The yellow light faded, and the darkness shrank. She was shrinking to her normal size. Panting, Freya looked down to find herself perched on the lip of the ice shelf, the dark waves churning a hundred feet below… she hadn't even realized she moved. She stumbled backwards, waving her wings to balance herself when her feathers caught her eye. They were stained black at the tips. Caught up in a moment of horrible wonder she held out a wing and watched the black recede, leaving white behind. "Da," she whispered, as the pufflings fled with a whirl of wings, as Gerry scrambled back into his hollow, where his parents stood. Their dark eyes flashed with terror, loathing… but it was Gerald, with his yellow eyes wide in disbelief that cut to Freya's core.

"W-what am I?" Freya asked, her voice hollow, desperation flooding her, and she started shivering.

Gerry opened his beak, once, twice, trying to frame an answer, but only one churned in his mind, one he could never, ever reveal to her…

Freya gulped, her throat feeling scratchy and sharp like it was filled with ice shards. She couldn't stand this, not with the look Gerald was giving, not with the abject terror in the puffins' eyes…

And then the rough sounds of screams clamored through her ear slits. Puffins, gathered outside their hollows on both sides of the Narrows, screeched into the night:

"MONSTER!"

"GET THAT KILLER OUTTA HERE!"

"WITCHCRAFT! NACHTMAGEN!"

But the worst curled through the air, a whisper, probably only heard by Freya's keen ears.

"Tootsie, go to the back of the hollow and fetch that ice sliver." It was Jocko's grim voice.

The fire inside Freya was extinguished, the emptiness left by it filling with fear. She couldn't stay, they were going to kill _her_! She was a monster, she had to flee, to escape the all-consuming darkness…

Without hesitating, Freya threw herself off the ledge, the angry cries of the puffins following her like a tormenting spirit. The icy blackness of the water loomed, and instinctively she unfurled her wings. The new feathers crackled, and a _snap_ reverberated painfully through her body, but there she was, carving the air, flying for the first time… there was a wild, irresistible moment of joy, cut short as a sharp rock whizzed by her heard, plunking into the ocean. Freya swooped up pushing higher and higher as rocks and ice, hurled by puffins, whooshed by her until the cliffs were below her, and the birds turned into specks. With a mournful glance down, she noticed a whiter-than-snow spot, her da with his beak open, calling to her. Freya was too high up to hear him. Still she whispered down, "Goodbye, Da," though the wind stole away her voice. She clutched at her necklace, only to find it gone. Tears stinging her eyes, she pumped her wings and shot through the night.

She raced unseeingly, not noticing the dark waters below, churning with ice and freezing stars. Fear consumed her, narrowed her purpose, she had to get away from that _thing_, had to escape that spark of black fire lodged in her gizzard.

She flew as fast as she could through the cloudless night, shredding her newly-formed feathers to bits, her heart nearly bursting with exhaustion. Freya pushed on over the ocean, not seeing the absence of ice, not feeling as the air growing warmer. Even though she was wrapped in a thermal, she still flapped her wings as hard as she could, and shot like a feathery comet across the Sea of Hoolemere.

After what seemed like an endless night, Freya started missing wingbeats, and was slowly lost altitude.

_No… must keep going,_ she screamed desperately, as an ebony snow swirled before her eyes. She blinked furiously, but it kept building up until the black drifts consumed her world.

She was unconscious when she crashed.


	7. Hagswinds

Through the darkness, Freya was buoyed up on a thermal of a dream.

She was back at the ice hollow, hovering just outside the mouth. Gerald was inside, leaning over her schneddenfyrr and he opened his beak.

Softly, he sang their silly little morning ditty, one that young owls at the retreat learned from the monks.

_"Rise up and fly and give Glaux the glory, glory_

_Rise up and fly and give Glaux the glory, glory_

_The stars are a'shinin', the moon is big and roooound…_

_So young owlet, rise up and fly!"_

A giggle issued from deep in the nest. Gerald frowned theatrically and said, "Should I sing it again?"

The giggle increased in volume and then a voice said, "No Da, please, I'm up!"

Freya blinked, content in the memory… and then the owlet hopped up to the lip of the nest and fear seized her… she screamed. Gerald whirled around and clutched her shoulder with a talon and shook her viciously.

"You dead? Better wake up, or yer gonna be!" he yelled, his voice no longer gentle and soft but scratchy, jarring…

Freya groaned as the last images of the dreams blurred and faded to black. Pain shot through her, jagged and sharp.

The shaking stopped immediately.

The low growling hoot rattled through Freya's aching head, grinding through her ear slits like gravel. She forced her eyelids apart, to find herself lying on her back, looking up to the sky. It boiled with ominous grey-green clouds. Suddenly, a strange face hovered over her, that of a ragged Long-Eared Owl. Orange eyes alight with suspicion glared down at her, and the strange owl's ear tufts waggled. She took a deep, shuddering breath, and various aches and pains made it catch in her lungs.

"Hrmmm yer alive, then," the ruff owl grumbled, squinting at her. "But not fer long, if yeh don't find shelter. You yoicks, or yeep or what?"

"Hungry," Freya coughed, "Definitely hungry. And in pain." With a groan, she kicked out her legs and, with a flap of her wings that sent pain screaming through her shattered feather shafts, she managed to roll onto her belly. What she found was a completely bizarre landscape: it was charred and blackened where she was at but far off, green hills and strange clumps of rocks rose. They stood on the shore of a placid lake, and across the way a blackened tree stretched its limbs the still waters. Abrupt gusts of wind stirred up ash and dust and the air hung heavy and metallic with ozone.

The owl gave her some space, and was forced to look up at her.

"A Snowy from the North, then," the owl muttered gruffly. "Figures yeh don't even know about the Shredders. Listen here, young'un, you'd best be gettin' to shelter, the hagswinds are about 'ta tear through the Beaks. The storm's a'brewin' an' I'll sell me mother's scroomshaw if there ain't a tornado comin'!" He let out a raucous churr at the blank look on Freya's face as a massive _boom _rolled over the prairie and she wilfed. Lightening forked across the sky, thrust from the clouds like broken bones. The owl turned to look at her, his wide eyes accented by ear tufts above like exclamation marks.

"Rain's comin' now, owlet, an' I've done my good deed an' warned yeh, now GET OUTTA HERE!" he hollered and flew off in a mad rush, cackling. _What on earth is that yoicks owl talk-_ her thought was cut sort as a wall of wind slammed into her. Her wings were caught half-spread in the updraft and with a screech she was swept into the air. Every muscle in her body tensed and sent pain rattling through her battered body as she was swept along faster than she had ever imagined- her vision blurred as the wind thrashed her one way and then the next. Raindrops lashed her face, soaked her feathers until her wings grew heavy.

A scream rang through the night but she couldn't tell if it was real or just the wind. Her own beak was open, desperately trying to pull in air… then something slammed into her, pushing her out from the swirling winds into a slower band.

Freya's third eyelids swept over her eyes rapidly, trying to swipe away the rain, as she looked down. A tiny sodden blob was stuck to her feathers like a burr. With a jolt, she saw it move and stare back at her with yellow eyes.

"WE HAVE TO GET OUT OF THIS!" a thin voice screeched, "MAKE FOR THAT HOLLOW!" Freya had no idea what that meant, but a second later she saw the charred fir tree loom into view.

_If I can just angle myself…_ she thought, but trying to make the fine feather adjustments with the torrents of wind and the stinging of her already broken feathers made it nearly impossible. Finally, the wind swung her around and she dove into the hollow, somersaulting into the far wall.

"Ow," Freya moaned, and gingerly flexed her muscles. Pain followed, but not so unbearable, so she staggered to her feet, almost toppling forward. There was a weight still clinging to her chest, shivering…

"Glaux," it muttered, its beak chattering, "Glaux almighty…" Freya felt its talons release her feathers, and it slid to the floor in a puddle of sodden feathers. Finally, two yellow eyes opened and it seemed to rearrange itself into the tiniest owl Freya had ever seen.

"Glaux, thanks for saving me," it panted, its eyes widening. It had a lilting accent, one Freya had never heard anything like.

"You're welcome, but I go by Freya," she said. _Yes, now is the time for sarcasm, when the owl's clearly been traumatized,_ Freya thought, ruffling her feathers in embarrassment.

"Right," huffed the little owl, "Sorry. It's just that, I've never seen a white owl before." Freya tilted her head and gazed down at the owl, confused.

"Oh, sorry, that didn't come out quite… I'm Sura, and I'm definitely not from around here, if you couldn't tell." The owl stood on shaking legs and gave a small bow. Freya inclined her head in return.

"Nice to meet you," Freya replied. "I'm… not from here, either." Her mind wandered back to the ice hollow, to her Da… her gizzard constricted, and she forced Gerald's terrified face from her mind. "I'm from the Northern Waters, the Ice Narrows… and I have no clue where we are."

"I believe it's called the Beaks," said Sura, framing the word carefully, "I've traveled from the southeast, past the Aquiline Mountains and the Hallowed Sea. The Lost Isle, as Hoolians called it, or the Isle of the Chiraca."The tiny owl looked out into the raging storm, staring past the sheets of rain and lashing branches of the tree.

"You seem to know a lot about this kingdom," Freya remarked and Sura blinked away her reminiscing.

"Yes, yes, we studied the carvings… well, after Tamena taught me to read Hoolian, that is… Oh! The prophecy! The Shadow!" Sura shrieked, her eyes suddenly focused and fearful. "I have to get to Ga'Hoole! The Guardians have got to help us! I need to get to the Great Tree NOW!" Before Freya could react, she started to hop to the entrance when a gust caught her spread wings and slammed her back into the hollow. Sura was on her feet again, desperately fighting the wind to get to the mouth of the hollow.

Alarmed, Freya steadied her with a wingtip. "Just- just hold on a moment! You can't go out in the-" _what did that grizzled owl call it?- _"hagswinds!" Freya exclaimed. Sura glared up at her.

"I have to, otherwise the Quetzen will destroy Chiraca! I have to! I have to," Sura's cries faded into a soft desperation. When she looked up at Freya again, tears filled her eyes.

"What you need is rest," Freya commented. Thunder rolled, reverberating through the hollow, shaking the owls to their cores. "The storm's not going anywhere for awhile. Sleep for a bit, I'll keep watch."

"I-I don't know if I can," Sura muttered thickly. Freya bent over and gently started preening her feathers, just as Gerald would do when she was scared. The little owl relaxed and started blinking slower and slower. "Can't stay too long… have to… Ga'Hoole…" Sura's breathes came evenly now, and Freya straightened up.

Outside, the world was in tumult- the rain lashed the lake water and lightening blazed through the inky clouds, punctuated by bone-rattling thunder. _That's how I feel. That's it, exactly,_ Freya thought, a prickling running up her spine. The piercing cries of the wind reminded her of a tormented bird's screaming… and that in turn reminded her of her waking daymare, the moment where the chick jumped to the ledge of the nest.

Its feathers were longer and more ragged than a regular owlet's and glistened an oily blue-black. But then there were its eyes: they blazed a solid, pupil-less yellow and shone with a light as powerful as the sun. They were ancient, filled with fire and ice and rage beyond what any owl, much less an owlet, should be capable of feeling…

The moment she screamed bloody murder was when she realized that she _was _the owlet.


End file.
